


Something Lasting

by allthemeadowswide



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love Bites, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthemeadowswide/pseuds/allthemeadowswide
Summary: She paused at the bottom of the stairs as if to remind herself that the floor was flat, here, and he moved both hands from his pockets to the back of her neck…where he gently swept away her hair and straightened her collar. “It’s crooked,” he said, the words unconvincing.





	Something Lasting

**Author's Note:**

> For @swolleneyes on Tumblr. I saw a post on her RP blog about hickeys and shifters, and couldn't resist a short story. This takes place right before the mission the Warriors most recently came back from (the long one where Pieck was shifted for several months in a row).

Porco opened his eyes on the second loud _gong_ of the base’s clock tower. Before it struck the sixth and final sound, he was out of bed and straightening the sheets. A minute after that and he was nearly dressed, stopping only to slide his armband up and over the sleeve of his jacket.

He met Pieck on the stairs. She had been walking normally again for more than a week, but now she moved slowly, deliberately, her hand steady on the banister and her eyes at her feet.

They flicked up briefly to meet his when he joined her, and she smiled—another gesture she took her time with.

“Hi,” she said, and placed her foot carefully on the next step.

“Hey,” was his usual response, hands jammed in his pockets like the angsty teenager he had been and probably, deep down, anyway, still was.

She descended the stairs at her own pace and he walked behind her and stared at her dark hair, studied how it curled and tumbled softly around and over her shoulders, pooling against her collar and coat. He was going to miss this, and not just the sight of her, either. The thought made some stupid part of him ache, so he shoved it away again and curled his hands into fists, pushing them deeper into his pockets as if it might keep him from doing something foolish.

He didn’t even last two minutes. She paused at the bottom of the stairs as if to remind herself that the floor was flat, here, and he moved both hands from his pockets to the back of her neck…where he gently swept away her hair and straightened her collar.

“It’s crooked,” he said, the words unconvincing.

She turned her head a little to look at him. The circles beneath her eyes were finally almost gone, too, he noticed. He hated how she made him ache, sometimes, in these little unpredictable ways. It’d be easier if it was just in the usual way.

Another smile, this one slower, and she turned to face him. He let her movement direct him, his fingers sliding around her collar so that he was straightening the front of it this time, smoothing it down, avoiding looking at her face for too long even though it was the only thing he wanted to do.

“It’s still there, Pokko,” she said, and the way she said the awful nickname was so endearing he failed to remind her not to call him that. She reached up, fingers ghosting over his, and pulled her collar down to one side

It _was_ there, still: a reddish bruise. A love bite, their peers used to say while giggling madly about a concept they hadn’t understood. Porco wasn’t sure what he’d call the one he’d left on Pieck’s skin, right where her neck met her shoulder. But he liked seeing it there.

The first floor was all but deserted, and in a fit of bravery he leaned down to press his lips against it, the pressure feather-light. He might have lingered too long, and gruffly muttered an excuse: “It’ll be gone when I see you next.”

It wasn’t quite a complaint, more an explanation to his way of thinking, but it earned him a soft little sound from her throat. Almost a laugh. The best he could hope to get this close to the departure time. It almost made him happy.

“You wouldn’t be able to see it underneath all that armor, anyway,” she said.

“I meant _you_.”

“Porco, it’s still me.” Her eyes were uncharacteristically kind as she said it, head tipping slightly to the side even as she straightened her shirt again.

It wasn’t, not to him, but she never had been able to really understand it; that was why it was stupid to ache so much over the little things she did or said. She liked fooling around sometimes, but it didn’t mean she ever ached for him, too—not the same way, and certainly not for the same reasons. He wasn’t sure any of it even mattered, anyway. He could see the toll their profession was taking on her; she was getting worse bit by bit. Yeah, she could stay shifted for months at a time, now, but that didn’t mean it was good for her. It wasn’t. Every time she shifted back it took her longer to readjust and heal.

_That_ made him ache, too—knowing he’d have to watch that slow downward spiral until one of the cadets were finally chosen to take her power from her…and take _her_ from _him_.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

He wanted to linger, but it was fuckin’ stupid to want that. It was stupid to want to stand around in this hallway with her and tell her that he knew it was her inside her titan, but it wasn’t her titan’s face he wanted to see.

They didn’t have time for that kind of a discussion, though; they were expected on the train by 0645 hours.

“But it’s not the same,” she all but whispered, her hand lifting up to brush a stray hair out of his face. “Is it?”

He could feel his cheeks turning red, and glanced down the hall at the doors that led out to the cobblestone street. Pieck hummed a little, sounding almost amused, but made no move toward the exit.

She was waiting for an answer from him, and she’d always been stubborn about getting what she wanted, _especially_ if it was something dumb.

A long moment passed while the things he wanted to tell her snagged on his vocal chords. “I guess,” he forced out in their stead. It would just have to do.

He’d be brave another day and…maybe tell her how she made him feel when she curled up against him in his bed, her hair soft and a little ticklish against his face. He had time. Another couple of years. His thoughts scrambled suddenly when she took his hand, her slender fingers slipping between his.

“How is yours holding up?” she asked, finally taking a step toward the doors.

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but at the floor, very deliberately putting one foot in front of the other.

He hurriedly took a step to avoid slowing her down. “It looks good,” he told her, mind flying back two full nights to the memory of her mouth against the left side of his chest, sucking hard on the skin right over his heart. He was sure the location hadn’t been intentional on her part, but even now it made his heart flutter a little to think about.

Her next question didn’t come until they’d nearly reached the door. “You’ll keep it as long as you can, won’t you?”

It was fading already, but he couldn’t tell her that—couldn’t let her know it was that big of a deal to him to lose it. “Duh,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

At most, he could keep it from healing for a couple of days, but that took focus and he wasn’t usually granted that on a battlefield. But at least he’d have it for a little while, something small to distract him at night; he could lay there and absently touch it, remember how it got there and all the little details that had come before it, sometimes things as innocuous as the way she liked to smile when she kissed his neck.

“Maybe this time won’t be as long,” she said, and if he didn’t know her so very well, he might not have realized the optimism in her voice was faked.

It would be just as long as last time, he knew. Maybe even longer. But he played along, muttering a soft, “Yeah, maybe.”

And then he gave her hand a squeeze; they were only a couple of yards away from the door and that meant it was time to let go. But Pieck wouldn’t let him, not until the very last second, the door halfway open and both of them squinting in the sunlight. Maybe that meant something—that she would risk a scolding just to hold onto him a few moments longer.

But he didn’t have time to think about that—and wouldn’t for a long time to come.

It was time for both of them to return to their role as weapons of Marley, now.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Porco's secretly a sentimental guy, and since he tells Pieck he missed her (after they fought on battlefields together for months), we know what he really missed was spending time with her. I think he'd like having something to remind him of his relationship with her while she's "gone."
> 
> We don't really get Pieck's perspective here, but it's tagged _mutual_ pining for a reason. ;) Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is very much appreciated.


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